


Organic

by LaughableLament



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathing, Bunker domestic, Dean's One Job, Episode Tag, Episode: s13e11 Breakdown, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shaving, Shower Sex, angsty, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 09:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13544907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: Take care of Sammy.





	Organic

Dean… wouldn’t say he’s _stalking_ his brother, just… surveilling him a little. Waitin til he clears his room, makes for the head.

Sweat-thick in the air, under the covers.

“Dude, what the fuck.” Sam scratches. Greasy bed-hair sticks up.

“You wanna chill in here? Then so do I.”

“Get out of my room.”

“I brought a picnic.” Dean hoists the cooler. Displays, “Smoothies, string cheese, tiny tomatoes…”

Forehead wrinkles.

“And-uh spicy beef jerky and beer.”

Sam rears up but his stomach growls. Lips disappear between his teeth.

“I’ll bail, if you want me to. But I’m leavin the food.”

Sam shuffles feet. “Shove over.”

Dean smooths Sam’s bedspread, lays out their rations.

“I don’t want the pep talk,” Sam says.

“I know.”

Sam mimics, rough-voiced, “We’ll figure it out, Sammy. Bury it in booze, fistfights, and pussy. Family business—”

“Awww, he _has_ been listenin.” Dean cracks beers, ritual toast and swallow. Studies the can. “But you’re right,” thumb traces the Triple-K, “’course it ends bloody.” Shitty old mattress creaks like it’s dyin. “When have I ever said different?”

Sam’s head tips back, throat works.

“You live long enough, you see your friends die. That’s… not just _this_ life, Sammy, that’s _life_.”

Cheek muscles twitch.

“It’s a miracle the two of us are still alive.” Dean huffs. “Whole string of miracles, each. And now Billie says, we got work to do, so… let’s work.”

Sam racks an argument.

“Here’s what I know.” Dean hooks toward him. “Doin the job…” eye contact, “always brought you back to me. Cas too, and Mom, for that matter, a coupla times. So we—”

“Do the job,” Sam croaks.

“And maybe, we get her back, and… and Jack too, or maybe we don’t. But we sure in the hell don’t find em holed up in here.”

Sam’s eyes flash.

“We go after Ketch. Take everything those assholes did to you, and to Mom, and we carve it out of his ass.”

Sam stares holes in the bedspread.

“We track down Cas. See what the fuck _he’s_ into before it comes back to bite us.” Almost gets a laugh. “We stick together.” Dean opens the cheese, the tomatoes, shoves them at Sam. “We fuck up evil sons of bitches; we go down swingin.” Pops a chunk of jerky in his mouth.

“Dean—”

Chews. “Just not today.” Dean makes himself comfy against the headboard. Fires up _Blue Planet II_ from Sam’s DVR.

Sam’s arm around his neck surprises him, kiss at his temple more. Dean scoots in, lets Sam get all caveman hands. Tomatoes tip over, of course, but Dean saves it, only spills a few. Feeds Sam three, all said and done. Stick of string cheese, sips of smoothie.

Show’s over and Dean smacks Sam’s thigh, squeezes. “I’m gonna hit the head. Grab you anything on my way back?”

“You’re really not leaving.”

“Really not. Matter-fact, I wish you’d come with me.”

“To piss.”

“Well… to shower.” Dean noses an armpit. “You can’t make me sleep next to that.” Ripe.

Sam almost gets him headlocked, so damned quick with those hands. Token resistance, wrists pinned at his sides and Sam above him. “You’re trying to get me naked,” Sam says.

“I am not!”

Squint.

“Okay, yes. But! All you gotta do, is walk, and sit.” Dean squirms out, offers a hand.

Sam blinks six times before he takes it.

“You want a shave? Like, a real one, not the electric?”

Sam nods. Dean drags armchairs to the sink, strips Sam’s vee-neck, leaves him in blue-gray sleep pants. Low waist, white cotton boxers, dangling drawstrings. Too short on him, of course. Dean holds the shirt out in two fingers. “Feel like we oughta do this load in holy water.”

“Fuck you, it’s been one day.”

Harsh, compact fluorescents above Sam’s mirror. Hand towel under hot taps. Dean wrings it out and drapes it across Sam’s face.

“Dude, what the—don’t… waterboard me!” Sam splutters. Tucks it under his jaw, his nose.

Dean don’t shave, not for real, not very often, but when he does he swears by a brush and soap. Nice mug of foam built up, he cops a squat between his brother’s legs. Hot towel on Sam’s bare shoulder. Goosebumps dot his arms.

“Tilt.” Dean takes his time, soaping Sam’s cheeks. Fistful of hair gets Sam’s chin up. Slow circles down his swan neck.

Sam hums.

“Feel good?” Dean lathers around Sam’s mouth last. “Hold still.” Shaves there first. Clears stray suds off his bottom lip, quick kiss.

He taught Sam this. How to follow the growth. How to get his sideburns even. How to doctor nicks with spit and toilet paper. Sam’s eyes glitter.

“Perfect.” Dean skims fingers under Sam’s jaw, damp and smooth. “Shower time.”

Canvas camp stool, built for somebody half Sam’s height. Dean unfolds, Sam folds. Pipes hiss and steam swirls. Sam tips under the stream, hair soaks and streaks back from his face. Eyelashes glow and little rivers tumble down his throat. Traces of shave foam.

Dean leaves his shorts on. Blocks Sam from the spray. Pours fancy shampoo and bends him forward.

“Dean, what—” Sam mumbles, chin on his chest.

“I overheard some chick.” Thumbs rub Sam’s nape. “Some diner someplace. Talkin bout…” Fingers, circles behind his ears. “How you should wash your hair back to front.” Up toward his temples. “Somethin bout, natural oils and shit.”

Sam’s shoulders snicker.

Dean works pressure points. Sam’s head droops, soft grunts.

“Don’t pass out on me.”

“Bite me.”

“Not til you’re rinsed.”

Sam whips his head back, slings suds. Dean gets out of the stream and they both hand-comb the water clear. Fingers tangle. Soap and a washcloth ready, Dean gets behind Sam before he can move. Digs in his shoulders.

“Smells expensive.” Sam cranes.

“Yeah, probably. Some kinda, organic herbal shit Donna gave me. Said it gave her hives.”

“And you’re using it on me?”

“I tried it first!”

Sam slumps. “That’s very comforting.”

“Aw, come on. Worst case, if you swell up, I’ll rub lotion all over ya. Huh?”

“ _Worst case_ , he says.”

Dean thumps Sam’s bicep. Wiry. Scary strong. Forearms cross his thighs and Sam’s ginormous hands dangle, drip between his knees. Dean kneads snarled muscles through the rag. Little sighs. He pulls Sam’s arms out, tickles his pits. Swirls down his ribs, clear past his hips. Dean sidesteps. Water pelts Sam’s back. Broad palm strokes, cupped handfuls hurry the rinse along.

Dean spins the soap back into lather. Cuts the tap.

Sam quirks lips at Dean’s underwear. “Somehow, you’re actually more obscene with those on.” Nostrils flare.

“Dude. Not even hard. For fuck’s sake.”

Sam flutters eyelids, stares him to his knees.

Dean washes Sam’s neck, feels for his pulse, steady under his fingers. Prods behind and pokes in his ear. Sam glares. Dean bumps their foreheads. Traces collar bones and brand-new old ink. Cups Sam’s pecs. Thumbs graze his nipples.

“Dean, I’m not—”

“All you gotta do is sit there, and feel good.” Dean rolls one, thumb and soapy finger. “That feel good?”

Sam bites his lip, wrists cross behind Dean’s neck. Noses nudge. Dean teases, rakes knuckles across and spirals in and out. Pinching, twisting, broad palm strokes. Sam sighs, belly clenches.

Dean drifts down, swabs in his navel. Traces every dip and ridge in his abs and hips. Smooth spots, between Sam’s thighs. Dean barehands Sam’s quadriceps, hamstrings. Gets a hiss, squeezing a calf. He lifts, rolls Sam’s foot around. “Let it go, little brother, you know the drill.” He scrubs Sam’s ankles, heels and toes. Re-ups the soap.

Fingers skate Sam’s thighs, under his balls, around his root. Slide, curl, and lift. Whisper of fingernail. Dean washes, twists and strokes and looks up—

Mouth like a bowstring, Sam’s lips press white. Sharp breath and Dean grabs on, back of his head and tucks that face against his neck. Sam engulfs him. Arms and legs, cradle and cage. Shaking. Dean knuckles his side, pets through his chest hair while he uncorks. “I got you.” Dean cries with him— _thank you, Marie_ —that, single fuckin man tear, rubbed in Sam’s hair.

Knees scream but he hangs on, holds out for endorphins. Sam shudders and Dean kisses his ear. And at last, “All right, up we go. Gotta wash your ass,” which, somehow, tips Sam into hysterics. Dean swallows those too.

Deep breath and Sam stretches up to his toes. Foamy from the waist down, hands behind his head and tits stuck out. Dean leers and Sam blushes and Dean spins him around. Forehead against forearm against tiles, soap pressed to his back. Dean kneads Sam’s cheeks, builds up lather. Nudges his feet apart, swipes his thigh creases. Scratches his taint, cradles, soaps his balls. Sam groans, sways into him. Dean massages, scrubs to his tailbone, circles his rim. Sam breathes in sharp.

Dean murmurs, “Y’ready to rinse?” Gasps.

Sam laces their fingers together and wraps himself up. Thickening, pulsing in Dean’s palm. Dean drops, licks Sam’s spine. Gives him the lead on the pressure, the pace. Soap, slide, and ripple. Sam squeezes. Dean thumbs his slit. Sam bucks.

Now he’s obscene, “You feel this?” wet-humping his little brother’s thigh. Boxer-briefs cling, precome- and soap-soaked. “What you do to me?”

Sam grunts, seizes and comes. Chokes, spills down Dean’s fist. Shakes in his arms. Dean starts the water. Puts his hands all over Sam. Warm torrent off his hair and down, between his legs. Slick, mixed with his mess. Dean gets him rinsed and upright.

“Go dry off.” Fingernails, light on his chest. “I changed the sheets in my room; let’s chill in there, huh? I just need five.”

Sam’s chin drops, “You didn’t…” Big paw hooks Dean’s waistband. “I can, I _should_ …”

“Nah.” Gets Sam’s wrist, cups fingers around his hard-on. “I’m savin this one.” Dean winks.

Smile cracks Sam’s face. He ties a towel around his waist and one around his head. Fuckin ridiculous. Dean’s tongue flicks.

“My room!” he barks at retreating shoulders.

PTS bath—some lot lizard once told him— _pits, tits, and slits_. Dean’s quick, and he only needs one towel, _Sam_. Rubs at his head, holds it around him.

Drips down the hall and ducks in the laundry. Means to grab two pairs of joggin pants, but they’re missin already.

Smells better and better, closer he gets to his room.

Sam dips soup out of the crockpot. Squints. “You set me up thoroughly; I’ll give you that.” Passes over a bowl.

“We don’t keep camp stools in the showers, Sam.” Dean pops the backup cooler. “Water or beer?”

“Water,” Sam says. “Please.”

“Gotcha.” Plastic bottle arcs high. Sam does that overhand catch with his freak-hands. “We could, get my computer out, look at cat videos or some shit.”

That makes Sam chuckle.

“What?”

“Seriously, though, when _did_ you go through menopause?”

“You’re a menopause.”

And that gets Sammy laughing.

Dean carries his beer and soup to the nightstand. With great dignity he stacks pillows, builds a nest. “You done?” Gesture of invitation.

Sam burrows. Only eats a half a bowl of soup, against Dean’s two—okay—two and a half. Because, if Sam’s not gonna finish this…

“Thank you.” Sam cups his jaw; thumb drags his cheek.

Dean kisses the meat of his palm. “Ain’t nothin.” Combs damp hair off his face. “Get you some sleep. And I’ll tell you what, how bout I run with you in the mornin? Letcha humiliate me.” Get him some sun.

Eyes roll. Sam drags Dean down. Firm kiss, only a little tongue. Sam tosses and wallows while Dean cleans up. Totally wrecks the covers—which, Dean lost that fight a long time ago—

He’s so warm. Knob of his spine, where Dean’s nose goes, already sweat-damp. Dean pets an arm, a hip, a thigh. Circles with fingernails.

“What happened to sleep?” Garbled. No more than thirty, thirty-five percent pissy.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Sam finds his hand, laces their fingers together and tugs.

Dean curls. Syncs up breath and murmurs, “Night, Sam,” into his shoulder.


End file.
